The Dangers of Mistletoe
by Fictionista 48
Summary: She hates Christmas. He wants to change that. Just a little one-shot. Because who wouldn't like to see Deeks barefoot, wrapped in Christmas lights?


**As I was untangling Christmas lights a few days ago, this is where my mind went. Doesn't follow the Christmas episode, but it was written before it aired. Just play along! Happy Holidays...A gift from me to you. Reviews make lovely gifts as well. ;0)**

**Disclaimer. Life isn't fair. Therefore, I don't own a damn thing.**

* * *

><p>She's been his partner for over a year now. She's worked at his side, had his back, and lobbed insults and innuendos back and forth with him. And she's watched him when he doesn't know she's looking. She's watched him work out in the gym, usually getting his ass kicked by Sam or Callen, or even herself. She's seen him look like a homeless bum straight off the streets of LA, smelling worse than any human has a right to while undercover as said bum. And yet, he's also carried a scent that made her blood simmer and heat pool low in her belly, while dressed to the nines in a designer tux and tie. She's watched him chase down a suspect and take him down with ease. She's seen him kill a man. Several, actually. And she's looked on as he's flirted with countless women, while her own heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest at the sight of it. But none of those things compare to this.<p>

He's dressed in an old gray LAPD tee shirt and faded jeans, barefoot in his living room. It's dark outside, and not a whole lot lighter inside. Only a pair of small lamps glow on the end tables, adding to the ambiance of the cozy room. He's standing a few feet away, intently beginning to decorate his Christmas tree, a long string of colored lights draped around his broad shoulders as he begins to hang the lights on the branches. The lights glow around him, lightly illuminating his blonde hair, and further burnishing his tan skin. The muscles of his back and shoulders flex and tense beneath the cotton of his shirt as he reaches up to place lights high, near the top.

He looks over at her, a smile playing on his lips. Her heart stalls, and her breath hitches just a bit at the sight. She mentally shakes herself before he catches her mooning over him like a smitten teenager.

"What? Am I uneven?" he asks, the smile never wavering. Clearly, he's enjoying the hell out of this exercise in futility.

She shrugs noncommittally. "I don't know. Can it _be _uneven? I mean it's a string of blinking colored lights twined between random branches."

"Exactly."

She shakes her head. "I don't even know why you're doing this."

"Why _wouldn't_ I be doing this?"

"Because you live alone, you have no kids, and you're an adult. You have no real reason to have one of those things," she says. It's mean, but it's true. She wants nothing to do with a tree or lights or stupid, meaningless decorations. She doesn't want to hear another freaking Christmas song, or see one more commercial for the perfect gift. She hates this damn holiday, and she wants everyone else to hate it along with her.

He still doesn't lose the smile. "So? Doesn't mean I can't enjoy it myself. And _you're_ here quite often, partner. You can enjoy it with me." He looks at her, clearly baiting her.

"God. Please don't think you have to do _that_ on my account. I'd honestly rather you not."

He turns back to his handiwork, stringing more lights off his shoulders.

_Why the hell is that so sexy?_

"Yeah, well, I'm having fun. With you or without you, there, Scrooge," he says, surveying the tree. "Can you hand me that box of ornaments? Pretty please?"

She looks at them with dread.

"They won't bite you, Kens."

She huffs and hands him the box. "Here. I suppose you need hooks on those, too, right?"

He smiles widely. "Are you offering to be my hooker?"

She shoves him so hard he nearly takes out the tree, but she can't help but smile along with him. "You, Deeks, are a pig. Hook your own damn ornaments."

He sticks out his full lower lip and pouts, looking at her with those damned blue eyes she can't help but fall into. It isn't fair. No man should have this effect on her. None. No man should look that good wearing a ratty old tee and Christmas lights. _Damn him_.

"Please," he begs, drawing out the word. "I'll make it worth your while."

Her heart nearly stops. She feels her blood quicken its pace through her veins, and color rush to her cheeks. She needs a smart-ass comeback, and she needs one _now_. Problem is, her brain quit functioning about five seconds ago, when she instantly and involuntarily imagined what that phrase could mean.

"You okay, Fern? You look a little flushed.

"It's hot as hell in here," she snipes.

"Maybe take off the sweatshirt and just wear what's underneath it." He smiles. "Provided there _is_ something underneath it. And even then…"

She punches his arm and retreats to the couch. "That's it. You're on your own. Decorate that thing all by yourself."

"Aww, don't be mad. I was just playing. Come on, you know you want to help me."

She snorts. "No, I don't. I have no desire whatsoever to even go near that monstrosity."

He stares at her as he pulls the last of the string of lights off his shoulders and places them on the tree. Seemingly happy with his work, he joins her. "Looks good, no?"

"No."

"Seriously? You injure me."

She raises her eyebrows. "You wanna see injured?"

"Play nice, princess. I know you aren't fond of Christmas. Can't you just try to enjoy it a little?"

There's that damned pout again, and those eyes, suckering her in. "What do I get if I help?"

He smiles widely, clearly pleased with winning. "What do you want?"

_Nothing I could possibly admit to out loud. _"Dinner."

"Order in, or go out?"

"Either is fine."

"Cool. We'll order in, and while we wait, you can help me."

She rolls her eyes. "Yay."

"Want a beer?"

"More than I've ever wanted one in my life."

He gets up to retrieve two beers, and calls in an order for Thai. While he's gone, she stares at the glowing tree, at the multi-colored lights and the boxes of crap scattered around it, waiting to be added to the branches. It makes her queasy, just looking at it. She isn't sure she can stay, let alone help him decorate. This holiday holds no joy or peace for her, only a bittersweet mixture of memories, both good and bad.

He hands her a beer and sits beside her, clearly realizing something's wrong. "Hey. You okay?"

She takes the proffered beer, and brings it to her lips, doing her best to control the slight tremor in her hand. "Uh-huh. Fine."

His brow furrows. "Liar."

"The very best."

"Not with me."

She shrugs and takes another pull off the beer.

"What is it? Tell me," he says, his voice soft with concern.

She shakes her head. "Nothing. Really. You know I hate Christmas."

He nods. "Yeah. I was just…I don't know. Trying to get you in the spirit I guess." He shrugs. "I don't want to upset you, Kensi. You don't have to help."

She feels like an idiot. He's too sweet for his own damn good. "No, it's fine. I said if you bought me dinner, I'd help. A deal's a deal."

He smiles and nudges her. "I haven't paid, yet."

"So if _I_ pay, I don't have to participate?"

"You don't have to participate at all. I'll pay. Will you stay, though? At least eat and keep me company while I go it alone?"

She takes a deep breath and blows it out. She really wants no part of this whole yuletide thing. Peace on earth, goodwill toward men. _Bullshit._ Not in her world, the world of _stop the bad guys, shoot or be shot, save one set of humans from another_. It's so ridiculous. All the songs about love and hope and peace. Happy families joined together around a tree, opening presents, watching Christmas movies. She swallows against the tightening of her throat.

He lays a hand on her shoulder. "Kens? You okay?"

_Shit_. This is why she hates Christmas. "Yeah. I should go. This isn't for me, Deeks. I'm sorry about dinner. I'll buy next time."

"Wait," he says, grabbing her hand to keep her still. "Don't go. Please? I…I thought maybe we could do this together. You know, since we know each other better this year."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Deeks. I can't. I don't do Christmas. It's nothing personal. I just don't."

"It's the Jack thing, isn't it?" he says, looking into her eyes.

She looks away, wanting to be pissed, but unable to pull it off. Pissed isn't what she is. It's more like hurt or lost or a combination of the two. "Sort of."

"Look, I know Christmas sucks for you, but give me a chance, okay? Let me try to make it better for you this year."

She looks at him, seeing the hope and the guilelessness in his blue eyes. He's nothing but honest and genuine, and he truly wants to make her happy.

"C'mon. We spent last Christmas together," he coaxes.

"Yeah, because I had a concussion and you thought I'd die in my sleep."

"Well, there was that." He smiles and nudges her. "Stay? Please?"

She blows out a breath. _Damn him_. "Okay, but I fully intend to get wrecked. If I'm stuck in this Christmas card from hell, at least allow me that."

"Deal." The smile on his face speaks volumes. He's gloriously happy she's here, and he isn't even trying to hide it.

"Don't get too excited. I may not be the best company."

He smiles. "And how would that be different than any other day?"

She shoves him, and he laughs.

"So, wanna be my hooker, Kens?"

She rolls her eyes. "Give me the damn hooks. And more alcohol. I'm going to need it."

He stands, patting her shoulder. "That's the spirit, Fern." He hands her a box of ornaments and a container of hooks, before turning his attention back to the tree. "I think it looks nice."

"Meh."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, partner."

"More alcohol. Chop! Chop!"

"If I get you hammered, how are you getting home?"

"I thought your master plan was to keep me hostage overnight."

He smiles at her over his shoulder. "Never thought you'd go for it, but yeah, that was the plan."

She shrugs. What else has she got to do? "Whatever. You're _way_ to happy, though. I may just have to kill you before this is over."

"I like Christmas. Sue me."

"Did you have those perfect childhood Christmases? Where everything is perfect?"

He laughs bitterly. "Hell, no. Not at all. My dad was a mean drunk. He made the Grinch look adorable and cuddly."

"Then why do you love this crap so much?"

He shrugs. "I get to make my own Christmas now. New traditions and stuff. It can be whatever I want it to be."

She takes a pull of her beer. "Well, that's sickeningly positive."

"How about you? Did you have crappy, godforsaken Christmases as a kid?"

She takes a deep breath and holds it for a second. Despite herself, she smiles just a bit as she remembers her childhood holidays. "No."

"So, _you_ had those perfect childhood Christmases. Where everything is perfect."

She nods, feeling a thousand miles away. "Yeah. I did."

"I don't get it then. Why do you hate Christmas?" he asks, coming back over to sit beside her. "Seems like you'd love it."

She shrugs, feeling the old, familiar pull of sadness. The ache in her chest, the tightening of her throat. Her dark eyes plead for mercy under his gaze. _Please don't make me do this. Please don't make me talk about it._

He touches her arm. "Kens?"

She maintains eye contact, despite the film of unshed tears. "I had great holidays. All of them. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. They were all great. My dad made sure of it."

She sees it dawn on him as he struggles to say the right thing. "Your dad."

She nods. "Yeah."

"Tell me," he says gently. "I want to hear all about Christmas when you were a kid."

She smiles, mainly because she can't help it. The memories are good, at least the ones until her mid teens. "My dad would do the _Twelve Days_ thing. He'd have a special gift for me every day after school. Just some little thing waiting for me. Some insignificant little thing I'd seen somewhere, or mentioned to him in passing."

"But they weren't insignificant."

She shakes her head. "No, they weren't. They meant everything."

"What else?" he prods gently.

"We'd go out together and find the perfect tree. If it took us ten Christmas tree stands and just as many hours, he wouldn't give up until we had just the right one. The tree we both loved. Then, we'd take it home and set it up. The next night after dinner, we'd drag out all the lights and ornaments, and decorate it together. Just the two of us, laughing and singing. He was a tough Marine, but he was the gentlest, kindest man I've ever known." _Possibly until now._

He watches her, smiling a bit as he listens. "Sounds like good times."

She nods. "Yeah."

"What else?"

"On Christmas Eve, we always ordered pizza. We ate in the living room, watching Christmas specials. And later, he'd make popcorn and get us ice cream and I'd sit with him on the couch watching sappy movies, like _It's a Wonderful Life_ or _Miracle on 34__th__ Street_. I'd fall asleep watching TV with his arm wrapped around me, but I'd always wake up Christmas morning tucked into my bed. Even when I got older, he carried me to bed." Her voice softens at the last.

He takes her hand, and she feels his thumb stroke her knuckles. He looks into her eyes and smiles a little. "You were a lucky kid."

"For awhile. Everything ends, though."

"What was Christmas day like?"

"He spoiled me. There were always twice as many presents under the tree as there was the night before. Like I said, he was tough, but he was a softie. He pulled off the Santa thing flawlessly; even long after I knew it was him leaving the gifts. He wanted me to have the best childhood possible to look back on, despite not having my mom there."

"Sounds like he pulled it off."

"He did."

"I still don't get why you hate Christmas. It sounds like it was perfect."

"It was," she says, standing abruptly. "And then he died. And it wasn't anymore." She can't sit here another minute. Not with her concerned, sweet partner holding her hand and looking at her that way. She tugs her hand away and walks off.

"Kens?"

"Bathroom." She can't say another word. She'll break down right in front of him, and that's the last thing she wants to do. She closes herself inside and sucks in great gulps of air, trying to calm herself. _Damn it_. This exactly is why she hates Christmas. It's emotional, and she hates emotions. They're messy and painful, and she has no idea what to do with them.

"Kens?" He knocks softly. "You okay?"

What can she say? "I'll be out in a second, Deeks. Let me pee in peace."

"'Okay. Food's here."

She stares at herself in the mirror, thinking of her father. She wonders if he'd recognize her today. It's been so long. Thirteen years. Nearly the length of her lifetime when he left her. She swallows back the agony at the thought that she's been without him nearly as long as she had him. And that in a few years, the time of loss will be greater than the time they had together.

She takes a deep breath and steels herself. She has to stop this and go spend time with Deeks, who seems to be intent on digging up old memories to drive her mad. She walks out and sees him gathering silverware and napkins. Their food is already on the coffee table, along with two more beers.

"Hey. You good?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Look, Kensi, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad."

She holds up a hand. "Don't. It's fine. Let's just eat, okay?"

He nods, but she sees how he looks at her now. This isn't over. He'll keep digging, niggling his way under her skin. Why he's so desperate to figure her out and fix her, she has no idea.

After dinner, they resume decorating. And Deeks resumes his inquest. "You were fifteen when your dad died?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. At least you have good memories to hang onto, though."

"Do you?"

"Nope. Not a one," he says matter-of-factly. "Lots of drinking and fighting. No peace on earth for me as a kid."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "Like I said, now I get to make Christmas whatever I want it to be and spend it with whoever I want to spend it with."

"Well, you picked some lousy company this year."

He turns from the tree, and instead of taking the ornament she offers, he takes her hand. "No, I didn't. The company's just fine, partner." He looks at her for a moment. "I thought you hated this holiday because of Jack. I had no idea it was something else. It isn't what you lost that makes it hard. It's what you had."

"Jack didn't help it any, doing what he did."

"No, I can't imagine he did," he says, holding her hand.

"I always thought he'd come back."

He swallows. "Do you still want him to?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know. It's been a long, long time. I'm not the woman he left. I have no idea who he is now. Or _if_ he is."

He nods, still holding her hand, his thumb ghosting over her skin.

She snaps out of it. "So, now you know why I hate Christmas. Let's finish the damn tree."

He laughs, but doesn't let go of her hand. "Okay, partner. You know, we could make some cool memories of our own."

"Yeah? And what would those be like?"

He smiles just a bit deviously. "I don't know. You could start by going over there and grabbing that box for me."

She frowns, looking toward the kitchen. Then it makes sense. In the doorway hangs a spring of mistletoe. "Oh, hell no. _No way_. Get it yourself. I'm not falling for that."

He feigns disappointment; barely containing the smile he wears so well. "_Damn_. Thought you'd walk right into that one."

"Better luck next year."

They finish the tree, and Deeks makes popcorn. He brings it to the living room, where she's found an appropriately sappy Christmas movie. He sits beside her and picks up their beers, handing one to her before raising his in a toast. "To your dad."

She raises hers as well, and smiles. "To good memories."

He winks at her. "And to making new ones."

She laughs, rolling her eyes before taking a drink. They settle in with his arm around her and her head on his shoulder, watching TV until the last movie is over, and tears glitter in her eyes. She sees Deeks glance at his watch before squeezing her knee and rising to walk into his bedroom. When he comes back, he has an envelope in his hand.

"Well, it's officially Christmas," he says, sitting back down beside her.

"Okay." She can't help but think he looks nervous.

"I…I have something for you. It's taken awhile, but…here." He hands her the white envelope, a slight tremor in his usually steady hand.

She takes it, nerves fluttering in her stomach. "What's this?"

He inhales deeply and blows it out. "Open it."

She frowns, having no idea what this could be. She opens the envelope and peers inside. A slip of paper rests within; with what appear to be an address and phone number written on it in Deeks' oddly neat handwriting. She looks at him, confused. "Deeks, what is this?"

His voice is soft and barely audible. "I found him, Kens. _Jack_. That's his info."

Her eyes widen, and she feels her mouth drop open. She can't believe he's done this. "Deeks…"

"What you do with it is up to you. But at least you have it now."

She stares at him, at what she can only describe as pain in his deep blue eyes. What has it cost him emotionally to do this for her? To put aside any feelings he might have and call in whatever favors owed to him, to provide her with this. It's been simmering beneath the surface for over a year now, that unspoken attraction between them. The sexual chemistry, the tension. The undeniable 'thing' they have that they both vehemently deny. That they've begun to deny less and less lately.

"Deeks…"

He smiles softly. "Merry Christmas, Kens."

She looks at the envelope still in her hands, then up at him. "Thank you for doing this. I know it must have taken a lot of time and effort to find him."

He nods, never breaking eye contact. "You're worth every second."

She gazes intently up at him, into his deep azure eyes. "That was my past," she says quietly, flinging the envelope into a wastebasket a few feet away. She places her hands on either side of his face, fingers drifting softly over the scruff beneath. "This is my future."

He stares at her, mouth open, clearly having no idea what to say. She takes his hand and stands up, leading him into the kitchen doorway, beneath the mistletoe. She looks up into his eyes and runs her fingers across his cheek, feeling his warm breath on her lips. Her eyes drift closed and she reaches up, her lower lip barely brushing his. She hears his breath catch and feels his hands on her hips, drawing her closer. And then as if by some unspoken invitation, he kisses her. Slowly and tentatively at first, just soft lips and light touches. When she opens her mouth, he responds in kind, their tongues meeting, playing slowly over each other, making her whimper.

His hands twine into her hair, and she wraps her arms around him, one hand caressing the nape of his neck, the other circling it. She lets her fingers wander up into his hair, savoring the warm silkiness. He moans slightly, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. She tastes him and smells him and feels him, and it's an experience unlike any other before it. Suddenly, she wonders why she's fought this so hard. It makes so much sense.

He pulls back a fraction and looks down into her eyes. "You sure about this?"

"He walked away from me," she says softly. "You always find me. What's isn't there to be sure of?"

He captures her lips again, leaving her breathless before smiling down at her. "So, I guess we're making those new memories?"

She smiles, nodding up above their heads. "I'm blaming it on that."

"Dangerous stuff, that mistletoe."

She reaches up to settle her lips on his again, moaning at the feel of his tongue brushing seductively against hers. She languishes in the long, slow, deep kiss, losing herself in it.

After long minutes, she pulls back and looks into his eyes and smiles up at him. "Looks like we're acknowledging our _thing_."

"_Thing?_ What _thing_? We have a _thing_?" he asks, smiling mischievously.

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Deeks."

His voice grows husky as he stares down at her. "Make me."

And she does.


End file.
